


we lie in the beds we've made

by MulaSaWala



Series: Omegaverses [4]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alpha John, Alpha John Reese, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety Attacks, Beta Harold Finch, But with sex, Consent Issues, Dom/sub, Double Oral Penetration, Established Relationship, How Do I Tag, I need help, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mild Consent Issues, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Mark Snow, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Pack Dynamics, Pack Feels, Porn with Feelings, Separation Anxiety, but like, i guess, i think, i'm so sorry for these tags, idk - Freeform, it's still a feels fic, omg, omg that's a tag that exists, probably, somebody stop me, the kind that comes with every D/s relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-05-04 11:51:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14592423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MulaSaWala/pseuds/MulaSaWala
Summary: Over the past few months, Mark had been allowed more and more freedom. No more harness for him, and his knife had been replaced by a small caliber Glock, which he preferred to Reese's own choice of Sig Saur.Mark had even been outside a few times, to guard Finch when John couldn’t. Not often, which was for the best. Mark preferred being in the loft, his safe place, and the building’s small garden terrace where Bear could do his business.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [managerie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/managerie/gifts).
  * Inspired by [We Clean Up Our Own Messes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1000889) by [managerie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/managerie/pseuds/managerie). 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone ever needs (even more) proof that I am a self-indulgent p.o.s., this is it fam. 
> 
> Managerie, I hope you like it. I’ve read a lot of your works multiple times, and a comment and kudos never seems enough. So I wrote you a thing, I hope you like it :D

On nights when both Reese and Finch were away, Mark got antsy. There were new protocols in place, for his benefit, but Mark didn't care for them at all. If both of John and Harold died somewhere, Mark would be informed immediately. A safe in the loft would open automatically, containing all the documents Mark would need to start over somewhere else. Mark had seen the package, had read through the alias' life. He even had a copy of Bear's papers.

He'd be able to start a new life without them.

It didn't matter.

Mark and John had both decided to let Harold believe that there was a point to the protocol. The contingency plan. As if either of them wouldn't eat his own gun should Harold ever die.

But still, it gave Harold comfort to have the protocol in place, and that was paramount.

Over the past few months, Mark had been allowed more and more freedom. No more harness for him, and his knife had been replaced by a small caliber Glock, which he preferred to Reese's own choice of Sig Saur. Mark had even been outside a few times, to guard Finch when John couldn’t. Not often, which was for the best. Mark preferred being in the loft, his safe place, and the building’s small garden terrace where Bear could do his business.

Today, Mark awoke by himself early in the loft. The dawn was overcast, with dark clouds in the distance. Mark spent a productive time cleaning, keeping the loft up to Reese's exacting standards. By midmorning, he was getting anxious, but not enough to call his masters yet. If they were not coming today, which happened sometimes, Finch would call. In fact, Finch will call anyway, if only to chat and make sure that Mark ate.

Mark did some exercises instead. His mind blanked, and he went to a place where there were no thoughts, where there was nothing but the push and pull of his own muscles, and the movement they created.

 

Harold and John arrived long after lunch (Mark had skipped it, too stressed out by half to think about food just yet.) Mark knelt on the floor in front of the door as soon as he’d heard them coming in. It was closer to dinner time, the afternoon sunlight fading away. The dark clouds that had been in the distance had arrived, and the rain made a soft pitter-patter against the loft windows.

Harold was conspicuously happy, John less so, but that was more likely to be the alpha's own more serious nature, than anything being wrong. Bear's tail wagged as he caught sight of Mark. There was contentment coming off of them in waves. Mark basked in it, as he did in the sunlight that sometimes came in through the loft's enormous windows.

Mark had not bothered to put his shirt back on after his workout. He felt a bit self-conscious, clad only in his pants, but Harold and John seemed to not mind one way or the other, as long as the omega was comfortable.

Harold visibly brightened up when he saw Mark, and the happiness that the omega felt at their arrival became an acute thing, like the prick of a needle, sharp and intense.

 

"We have a gift for you, Mark. Happy birthday," Harold said by way of greeting. He began to pull something out from a cloth bag Reese was carrying.

 

"Oh. Thank you." Mark replied, because Harold liked it when he was polite.

 

Mark was still happy, but more confused than anything when Harold handed him a box. He didn’t know what to do with it.

He knew what a gift was, of course. But as Mark considered his life, his home, his pack...

 

"Don’t you like it?" Harold's broke in, smile faltering a bit.

 

"I’m sure I’ll love it, Harold," Mark was quick to reassure, "I'm just..."

 

Mark made a helpless gesture.

 

"What more could I ask for?" Mark wondered out loud.

 

Harold was speechless. John put an arm around Harold’s shoulders, giving them a quick rub. 

 

"Just open it, Mark."

 

Mark did as he was told.

 

Inside the box was a collar, lovely, and lovingly made. Soft and supple. No name, of course not, Mark Snow was about as real as Harold Finch and John Reese. But inside the collar was a single word. 

 

_Cherished_

 

Tears prickled in his eyes.

 

"For me?"

 

John gave Harold's shoulders a final squeeze before walking away. He'd taken Harold’s coat with him, to hang with his own. John moved in the loft behind Mark, giving Bear food and water, commanding the canine to his doggy bed.

Harold moved to kneel in front of Mark, with difficulty.

 

"Of course it’s for you. You’re part of the pack, right?"

 

Mark looked helplessly at Harold, and then back down at the box, and what it contained.

John came back to help Harold up, Mark was still too busy being stunned to do it himself.

To an outsider, they may have looked like they were ignoring Mark. But the truth was that they were just giving him space to process.

When dinner was ready, Mark found himself, found his bearings, and crawled over to his masters, leaving the box where he'd put it down ( _'careful, careful'_ ), leaving it where he'd been kneeling. It was too much, too much. Holding it felt like staring into the sun.

Mark crawled over and leaned his body against Harold’s leg as he usually did, while Reese served them all. No more MREs for Mark; he ate what Harold and John ate, had his own plate on the floor and everything. In Mark’s hands, silver utensils gleamed in the light.

All of a sudden, Mark found that he couldn't breathe. He remembered his time at the CIA, how all he'd had was the promise of a black hood at the end of his service. He remembered how recalcitrant he had been when John had first brought him here. They’ve been so patient with him. Even Reese. Especially Reese.

In hindsight, Mark could appreciate how hard John had worked to get him this far. How much time he’d spent, molding Mark into something different. Something _better_. Something that would fit into this perfect pack that John had made for himself.

Before Mark made the decision to, Mark was already crawling forward blindly, to kiss the tops of John’s shoes. But as he did, he got tears on them, which was _unacceptable_. Not because he was afraid of John's anger; John hadn't been angry, truly angry, with Mark in a long time.  In fact, Mark struggled to remember the last time John had struck him in violence. In play, of course, when Mark begged _just right_ , but not with force. Not to _hurt_.

Mark bent his head in earnest, to rub away the moisture with his cheek, but that only made it worse. _He always made things worse_.

Mark began to whine in distress.

All of a sudden, Harold was beside him, shushing him, gently bringing Mark’s head to his lap.

 

“Dear, are you quite all right?”

 

And Mark wanted to nod yes, wanted to shake his head no, but he couldn’t do anything but keep trying to breathe. He went limp on the floor, trying very hard not think of anything at all.

 

“John?” Harold’s questioning tone was thick with worry.

 

Harold's voice pulled him back, though. Mark struggled to say something, say anything, but before he could, John was there. His alpha lifted him up with little effort, carrying Mark back to his bed.

Yes, bed. The luxurious one that had replaced Mark's thin pallet long ago.

 

"It wreaks havoc upon the interior design of this place," Harold had said when it had first arrived (Mark had bit back a smile, thoroughly charmed), not even looking at the instructions as he assisted Mark in assembling it. And to be fair, Harold had been the one to order it, and the beta hadn’t commented further.

John laid Mark down on the bed. The rough cloth of the alpha's suit against Mark’s chest was a contrast to the soft sheets beneath the him. Harold was the one to tuck Mark in, soothing a hand over Mark’s brow.

 

"Rest for now. We’ll speak in the morning."

 

And then they went back to their meal, and Mark fell asleep to the sound of utensils hitting plates, to the sound of rain, and muted conversation.

  
To the sound of pack.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, the first chapter is always the hardest chapter to post. 
> 
> Well, the second hardest. The hardest is to post the last. Hello, new fic! Welcome to being one of my WIPs!
> 
> I’ve long admired managerie’s fic. Even though it’s pretty dark, I couldn’t help but feel that the ending was hopeful. So, given my compulsive need to make sure my babies always get happy endings, I wrote this.
> 
> It’s not perfect, or finished, and I kind of wanted to keep it to myself because I was like, who wants to read this crap?
> 
> But I tend to feel that way about all my fics, so in the end, I decided that if anyone doesn’t want to read something like this, then they have the option to do so. And maybe someone out there had the same thoughts as I did, and reading this would make them happy.
> 
> Whoever you are that also enjoys this kind of thing, hooray for us! :D


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is my first attempt at writing an extended sex scene. :P
> 
> I thought about tagging this dub-con, because Mark is not really on equal footing with Harold and John. But since I established in the previous chapter that he can actually come and go whenever he wants, and that what he wants is to stay with John and Harold, I decided against the dub-con tag. 
> 
> This chapter is also for a good friend, who did a lot editing and commenting, and handholding in general while I wrote this. Without the help, this chapter would have been a lot more bad and confusing. :D
> 
> Anyway, on with the fic, I hope everyone has fun!
> 
> Also! I'm trying out a new way of formatting fics (more great ideas from my friend), with less spaces between paragraphs and stuff. Let me know what you think!
> 
> Last one: in case it's not clear, the events in this chapter happened waaay before the events of chapter 1. Just FYI. :D

 

If asked directly, Mark would probably have a hard time defining what it was that had changed in his relationship with his alpha and his beta.

But he knew that it had started even before Harold had first found him licking come from John's hand.

 

It had been a day that began almost like any other. Except, Harold had forgotten his pocketsquare, and had returned to the loft after walking Bear, instead of going straight to the library.

Mark had watched them earlier that morning, Mark's alpha and his beloved beta coupling slowly, sweetly, in the dim morning light. Mark had watched them bask in the afterglow and felt content, seeing his masters at peace. It was the kind of quiet moment that left everyone recharged, ready to take on everything that came their way.

John had remained in bed as Harold got up to shower and get dressed. After watching his omega assist with Harold's morning ablutions, Mark helping the beta out of the loft, John had been feeling good about the world, about his pack. He felt indulgent, laid out on the master bed like a king. John had beckoned Mark over as soon as Harold had gone to attend to Bear's needs.

"Here," John had simply said, holding out his still-soiled hand, and Mark had fallen upon him like a starving man.

The droplets of Harold's semen that had fallen on the alpha's forearm and wrist went first, consumed with small careful licks, savored. The back of John's hand was next, the streaks of come laved with broad strokes of Mark's tongue. The omega licked until he could taste nothing but skin, and a little bit more after that, warming John's hand.

The palm was an experience for both of them. Having decided that his alpha was in a playful mood, Mark had moved his tongue quickly, lewdly, flicking along the lines on John's palm. Mark had allowed saliva to pool in the shallow curve of John's hand, bringing moisture to the dried semen so he could get it all into his mouth.

Mark had only begun on John's fingers when Harold had come back, his arrival surprising the two men who had been otherwise occupied.

 

Predictably, he was horrified.

 

"John!" Harold rushed forward as fast as he could, separating them like fighting dogs, when they were anything but. The _farthest_ thing from.

"Why are you making Mark do that?" Harold asked indignantly, leveling an outraged glare towards his mate. That was a sign of a good pack, when the beta felt no fear for the alpha, but Mark shrank into himself, wondering if he was about to be punished.

John just laughed softly, further incensing Harold.

"Making him?" he asked, a smile in his voice.

John was still looking as relaxed as could be, leaning back languidly into the bed. It was a deceptive pose, Mark knew, because the easy tension in his form meant he could spring into action at a second's notice.

"Mark, am I making you do this?" John didn't even take his eyes off Harold.

Mark became hyper aware of his lack of clothes as Harold's eyes turned to him. The omega, previously seated beside the bed, moved to kneel and bow, head touching the cool wood of the loft's floor.

"Master Reese was _letting_ me, " Mark replied meekly, closing his eyes. He felt _embarrassed_. The omega could feel the blood rushing to his face. It wasn't shame, not yet. But what must Harold think? That Mark must have considered himself worthy of licking his come from John's hand? That Harold might think him so presumptuous... It made Mark want to run away and hide.

Harold was aware of Mark's feelings, of course. Or at least, Mark had thought he was. The omega thought that he'd made it abundantly and redundantly clear that he would do anything, _anything at all_ , to be close to Harold.

But maybe not. Mark recalled the night that Harold had been injured. The night Reese had been almost out of control in his need to connect with his mate. It was so long ago, but Mark could remember it clearly. He could remember how he'd revealed his feelings for his beta.

Through experience, Mark now knew that Harold, as brilliant as he was, could misinterpret things sometimes. Perhaps he'd come to the conclusion that Mark had been faking it that night, feigning attraction to be allowed to help ease the pain of someone that he was loyal to, certainly, but felt no sexual attraction for.

If so, then Harold was wrong. Extremely, and thoroughly. Mark was quite sure that he'd never been so attracted to anyone in his life. John was appealing, yes. Time had dulled his sharp edges around Mark, allowing his naturally kind and protective instincts to come through.

But _Harold._ To Mark, no one could compare.

 

The object of Mark's affections sat down heavily beside his alpha on the bed, pocketsquare completely forgotten. And Mark wanted to curl up in shame, wanted to keep licking John’s hand, but more than anything, he wanted Harold’s forgiveness, Harold's hands on him, so he moved to put his head on his beta’s lap.

Almost instinctively, Harold's hands came up to pet Mark's head affectionately. The omega breathed a little easier.

"What do you need, Mark?" Harold asked after a while. Mark couldn't help the way he stiffened at the question. Beside them, John's cunning eyes watched with interest.

"I don’t need anything," Mark answered truthfully. "I just… I want..." He couldn't seem to get any words out.

"He’s been a good boy lately, Finch." John cut in smoothly. There was a time when Mark would have found the interruption irritating, aggressive. Now, he felt nothing but relief.

"I thought he could use a reward." was John's follow up, which pleased Mark. He tried as hard as he could, and was glad to have it be seen.

"John. May I please speak to you in private?" Dry as a desert, the tone of Harold's voice spoke volumes by itself.

John gestured, and Mark made himself scarce, placing himself in the bathroom. After the warmth of being beside the bed, favored, the white tiles and glass mirrors of the bathroom felt sterile to Mark. Alien. Cold.

Mark shivered, and it had nothing to do with the temperature.

 

Once alone, there was nothing to stop the bad thoughts from coming. That Harold was disgusted, that the beta would tell John to send him away. Knots of tension and anxiety began to form in Mark's belly. Like dark, heavy stones, they sat in his stomach.

Would they decide that, since he was no longer a danger to them, they could cast him away? He had no doubt in his mind that he'd been remade for Harold, to keep Harold safe. But what use was he if the beta felt discomfort around him?

What if Harold could no longer take the sight of him? Perhaps the problem was not that he'd been licking Harold's come, but John's hand? Was he disgusted with the idea that John dirtied his hands with Mark?

Surely Harold knew that the omega was nothing compared to him? John played with Mark casually, lazily. To the alpha, Mark was an entertaining toy that lit up on command; Harold was the bright and shining sun.

No, it had to be disgust. Mark had been given so much, and had been insolent to ask for more. He'd take whatever punishment they meted out, and be glad for it.

 

 

It felt like an eternity before Mark heard Harold call from outside the bathroom.

"Mark? Come back, please."

Mark did as he was told, proverbial tail between his legs. He knelt in front of them, his alpha and his beta now sitting beside each other on the edge of their bed. John had an arm around Harold's waist, his naked form no more vulnerable than Harold's in his suit of armor. Mark knelt and was ready, eager even, to beg for punishment, for mercy, for pity, forgiveness, _anything_.

Instead, the words dried up in his mouth as Harold brought out his cock. The beta was still fully clothed, meticulously dressed in a three-piece suit. Only Harold's pants were out of place, fly undone all the way down. The slit of his boxers pulled wide open, revealing a lovely patch of hair. The scene felt a bit surreal to Mark. He wondered a bit hysterically if he was still asleep, and dreaming. It wouldn't be the first time

"If, If this is something that would make you happy, Mark, here." Harold gestured to his member. Even soft, it was sizable, cradled by balls that were, well, proportionate, certainly. It looked obscene lying against Harold's meticulously ironed slacks.

It took all of Mark's willpower to tear his eyes away, to look up at his beta's face. As much as he wanted, if Harold didn't...

The face of Mark's beloved beta was flushed, sweet color riding high on his cheeks. There was trepidation there too, that small bit of anxiety that the omega knew was there every time Harold initiated anything sexual in nature. The sight of it made Mark nearly swallow his tongue.

"And as it happens, I’m not entirely opposed myself." Harold murmured quietly, hand coming up to run a thumb over the omega's cheek.

Mark's head spun. The entire situation was too much. It was simply too good to be true. Mark looked disbelievingly to John. Surely, this was a trap, or a test, and Mark was desperate to not fall, to not fail. But the alpha just looked at him calmly, the corner of his mouth pulling up in amusement. John gestured with studied carelessness to Harold's crotch, as if he weren't offering something that Mark had dreamed of.

 

Mark couldn't refuse after that, any more than he could have refused to breathe.

 

After one more look at Harold's face (an encouraging smile, the beta's hand resting gently where Mark's shoulder met his neck) Mark placed all his attention to Harold's cock. It was large, yes, but that was only part of the appeal for Mark. Harold was not cut, for one. John and Mark both were, had been cut when they were young, and that small bit of skin fascinated them endlessly.

Mark lapped gently at it, heart racing when Harold made a soft sound. Feeling bold, Mark looked up as he pushed insistently at the slit, trying to get his tongue inside. Above him, John had moved to support the beta, allowing Harold's back to rest against his chest. John had opened Harold's clothes, unwrapped him like a gift, and calloused hands were now playing with the soft hair on Harold's chest. Before long, John's clever fingers found Harold's sweet little tits, and Mark groaned at the sight.

 

By the time Harold was fully hard, Mark had worked up to swallowing almost all of him. One of John's hands rested carefully on Mark's neck, feeling the omega's throat work around Harold's shaft. It was sweet, really, how hard he was trying, how he struggled to open himself up in order to take all of Harold. John himself could only do it through frequent and diligent practice.

The beta was almost insensible at this point. John had directed Harold to play with his own tits, voice low in his ear, directing him to pinch and roll and pull as he pleased. In the meantime, John's hands went exploring. He ran his fingers up and down Harold's sides. He soothed the heated skin on the inside of Harold's thighs. He wrapped his arms around his mate and just, _held_ him. Willing the beta to understand how thoroughly he possessed his alpha.

Through experience, John knew when Harold was about to come. He could read the restless movement, the quick panting and keening, as clear as day. When John began to see the signs, the alpha gestured for Mark to stop, to remove his mouth from Harold's cock. Obediently, Mark did, and John grinned at the expression of betrayal on his omega's face.

 

"Soon," was all the alpha said.

 

John began to move Harold. The beta appeared to be in a daze, straining for an orgasm that wasn't forthcoming. He was plaint and trusting as John undressed him fully, and positioned him to the alpha's liking. Mark helped, of course. Hanging up the wrinkled suit, taking some of Harold's weight when he could.

As soon as Harold was stable, Mark knelt back down to his spot beside the bed, awaiting further instructions. Harold's new position bent John's leg at a bit of an angle, but now Mark had access to both of their dicks.

 

He really _had_ been a good boy.

 

Mark's face, previously with a somewhat petulant expression on it, just _lit up_. He looked up at John questioningly, beseechingly.

 

_'For me?'_

 

John nodded to him before turning his attention back to his mate. One arm was wrapped around Harold to support him, so John used the other to take hold of Harold's hands. John gave Harold's cheek a kiss (and perhaps a bit of a lick) as he intertwined their fingers.

"Look," he rasped, bring Harold's dazed attention to the omega between their legs.

Mark had a joyous look on his face, eyes closed as he tried to suck both cocks into his mouth. Spit was dripping down his chin and onto his chest as he tried to accommodate the two of them at once. Due to their girth, the omega couldn't take much more than both their heads, but he was moving his tongue with purpose, and sucking so sweetly, that it hardly seemed to matter.

Harold's eyes sharpened, losing their glazed look. He made brief eye contact with John, who swooped in for a quick kiss, almost chaste.

"See, Harold? Mark is being so _good_ for us."

"What a darling," Harold agreed, using his free hand to wipe the sweat from Mark's brow, to keep it from getting into his eyes.

 

"What a dear, sweet thing."

 

At his words, tears appeared at the corners of Mark's eyes. Harold would have worried that it was too much, that perhaps they should all take a moment to calm down, but he was loath to disturb their omega. He seemed _euphoric_.

Instead, Harold touched where he could. Wiped the tears from his eyes, gently. Traced the profile of an aquiline nose, the sensitive shell of an ear. Harold put his thumb to Mark's cheek, to his lips, feeling them stretch as Mark kept sucking.

Taking advantage of Harold's distraction with the omega, John took the opportunity to slick two fingers (with lube or saliva, Harold didn't know) and push them up Harold's ass. From their lovemaking earlier that morning, Harold was still so _open,_ there was hardly any resistance.

Harold gave the alpha a withering look as he moved his fingers around. And moaned low when John found his prostate, applying pressure gently but insistently.

At the same time, Mark, by sheer force of will, managed to relax his throat even further, taking in Harold and John a few more inches.

 

Harold's climax hit him without warning, suddenly and hard, taking everyone by surprise, Without his intention, Harold's hips stuttered, thrusting his cock deeper into Mark. The omega's eyes sprang open as he felt Harold's cock spurt come almost all the way down his throat. The intrusion was deep, the shaft making a space for itself inside Mark. That seemed to be his limit ( _'_ _for now'_ ), and Mark hurriedly pulled back enough to keep both cocks just in his mouth. Semen filled in the gaps between John and Harold's dicks, leaking from between Mark's lips to dribble down his chin and onto his chest, his stomach. His alpha and his beta's come dripped down onto the omega's own, neglected cock. The poor thing twitched in time with every drop on it, desperate for any sort of contact.

Between the sounds Harold and Mark made, the tightness around John's fingers and around his cock, the alpha came as well, adding to the copious amount Harold had released.

Mark suckled at their softening cocks, swallowing urgently. John let him be until the sensation became too a touch much, a little too close to pain. John gently guided the omega away, unwilling to let his mate experience even a small discomfort.

 

On the floor, Mark looked and felt like an absolute mess. There were all kinds of fluids all over him, but it was his dick that drew John's attention. It looked hard enough to hurt, the head and shaft starting to turn a deep red. John couldn't stop looking at it.

Following his alpha's gaze, Mark became abruptly aware of his own cock. It was aching, almost painful, with the need to come. He felt tears begin to form in his eyes at the intensity, now that he was aware of it. The omega's hands came close, but stopped before they made contact with the heated flesh. He was almost afraid to touch it.

He looked up at his alpha and his beta, his masters, and whimpered. They were breathing hard, leaning against each other, but they hadn't forgotten about him.

Harold reached down to pet him, hand moving soothingly over his forehead.

"What do you need, dear?" Harold's voice was soft and gentle, and Mark desperately wanted to answer, but he didn't know himself. The omega just kept making plaintive noises as Harold continued to run his hand gently over every part of Mark he could reach.

Eyes narrowed into slits, John watched his omega and his beta interact. It brought forth a startling mix of emotions from him. The fierce wave of possessiveness, John expected, but there was fondness there too, and pride, for having such a perfect pack. He watched the gentle way Harold handled Mark, and expected some jealousy to make itself known, but no. If anything, his spent cock gave an interested twitch, trying to get hard again.

John felt an irrational urge to tell his dick to be quiet.

The alpha decided to take matters into his own hands, after a little while. Mark was just starting to turn from red to purple, and John knew it would start hurting soon if he didn't do anything about it. He turned his head, and stage whispered to Harold.

 

"You have to give him permission, Harold."

 

  
Ignoring Harold's incredulous look, John nudged his foot under Mark’s balls, making him grunt. The omega's genitals felt a bit warm to John, soft against the skin of his foot, and John filed that sensation away for future examination. Right now, he watched his omega's cock twitch in response, dribbling a small amount of precome on the top of John's foot. 

 

"You can come now, Mark."

 

And that was all it took. Immediately, almost violently, Mark came, cock twitching wildly. He hunched over on himself, moving as close to his alpha as he could. He was almost humping John's leg. When the stream took longer than a few seconds, Harold's foot tentatively joined John's, rubbing up and down the side of the omega's shaft.

Mark finished coming soon after, and he didn’t even have to be told to lick the come off Harold and John.

"See?" John murmured, pressing his nose into his mate's hair as their omega tended to them both.

 

" __Such a good boy."

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I had a conversation with TalkingToTheSky about WIPs. 
> 
> I want to have the same attitude, that finishing a work will give me satisfaction instead of making me (a little) sad, so I'll limit this to 5 chapters. 
> 
> Maybe I'll add more to it someday, maybe not. But the five chapters I decided on will result in this being a complete story (I hope). 
> 
> Anyway, wish me luck! And I hope to hear your opinions and stuff in the comments! :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today, I am sad. 
> 
> So, have some fluffy idyllic household of kink. Then I'm going to go lie down. :P
> 
>  
> 
> Edit: I felt a lot better after writing this, the healing power of fanfic is really something.
> 
> P.S. the events of this chapter happen before chapter 1, but after chapter 2. :)

 

 

 

It was John who brought Mark to the library the first time.

It hid in plain sight, a building that had been abandoned, stripped of its original purpose to become something different, perhaps something better, than what it once was. The facade, a nondescript gray, seemed to blend into both the sky and the pavement, inviting you to allow your eyes to pass right over it, nothing to see here, move along.

The library was a source of wonder to Mark. So much of it was _Harold_. The books and the quiet, the grand and sweeping architecture. But there was so much of John in it, too. In the dark spaces that offered safety, and the ordinance that lived their lives just out of sight. That was all John.

The first time he'd been brought to the library, the alpha had shown him where every single gun was hidden. Mark had been forced to reevaluate how rich Harold actually was, to keep John supplied with so much ammunition.

"Harold doesn't like it when we kill," the alpha had said, carefully out of the beta's hearing. He was showing Mark a grenade launcher. It was _nice_.

"But, if anything comes here threatening you or Harold, take the headshot, first chance you get."

Mark had nodded solemnly. He hadn't needed the reminder, kept the Glock on his person constantly for just that purpose. But still, it was nice to be reminded, that their alpha was always looking out for them.

Harold and John permeated every part of the library, yes, but in the library, they were not Harold and John. They were Finch and Reese. And that, Mark was finding out, meant that the beta expected his alpha to follow his orders more often than not. And more often than not, their alpha _did_ follow orders.

 

He hadn't followed orders today.

 

One almost-bullet-hole, and seven stitches later, Mark was starting to figure out that he wasn't exactly Mark here, either.

The omega dabbed at a wound on Reese's temple, the gauze finally coming away clean. It joined its brothers on the floor, to be cleaned up later, a large pile that was positively soaked with John's blood.

"You should have been more careful," the omega said quietly, putting the medical accoutrements away.

Reese glared at him, eyes narrowed. Any other day, that would have been terrifying to Mark. Well, not _terrifying_ exactly, but still, Mark's top priority would have been getting back into his alpha's good graces.

 

Not today.

 

In response to Reese's look, Mark merely nodded his head in Finch's direction. Almost immediately, the alpha deflated.

In his customary chair in front of the computers, Finch held himself rigidly, his back an angry line of righteous fury, promising a wicked backache later tonight.

Reese sighed, standing up with no little effort. With Mark's help, they made it across the room to stand beside Finch's computer terminal.

Reese opened his mouth to speak, but Finch beat him to it.

"Tearing out your stitches won't ingratiate yourself to me, Mr. Reese. Go lie down." His voice was hard and terse. Not a good sign.

"Finch..." Reese attempted to cajole Finch into a better mood, but to no avail.

"I told you to wait, Mr. Reese. And you didn't. If Mr. Snow hadn't been there..." Finch trailed off.

At that name, Mark straightened. He hadn't been Snow in a while. Mark was all he'd needed to be for months, and he was slowly coming to find that he liked it that way, liked being devoted to a few instead of serving and protecting the many.

Mark would be the first to admit that he'd never had a finely honed sense of right and wrong. He didn't want money beyond comfort, and he had no ambition aside from belonging. Mostly, the omega just got _attached_ , unreasonably so. And when he did, the object of his attachment would have to work hard to get rid of him. Present company very much included.

 

Beside Mark, Reese kept talking. In the library, Reese didn't know when to shut up, apparently. Mark absolutely shouldn't have found that as charming as he did

"But he _was_ there, Finch. And the number's safe, now."

Finch's hands convulsed on they keyboard, clenching hard into fists. Mark got the impression that a less controlled man would have pounded them on the table.

_"I don't care about the number right now, John!"_

John blinked.

"You don't mean that."

Harold stood, then. He held his alpha's face softly between two trembling hands. John flinched from it, from Harold, like his touch hurt. Mark could relate. The full weight of Harold's attention, his regard, was not something to be taken lightly. At times, it was almost overwhelming.

 

"To me, you will always come before the numbers, John, my love," Harold said, "We do our best, and we hope that it's enough. But at the end of the day, I am not prepared to lose you."

 

Harold held John's gaze for a moment longer before he looked to Mark. The omega felt caught, and caught off guard. A deer in headlights.

 

"That applies to you as well, my dear Mark,"

Harold paused. Searching for words.

"If I've ever made either of you feel... If I've allowed either of you to believe that you are _expendable_ to me..."

 

Harold sat back down, unable to continue. Abruptly, he looked tired, and every bit of his age showed in his face, in his hands, in the way he held himself. Mark felt frozen on the spot, afraid to move.

 

"I know you have a cut on your leg, Mr. Snow."

Damn, he thought Finch had missed that.

"Both of you, go to the bedroom. Lick your wounds and wounded pride, if you must. But  _rest_."

At this, Finch turned back to his computer terminal, all business.

"I have work to do."

 

That was as clear a dismissal as Mark had ever heard, and it released him from whatever temporary paralysis had him in its sway. Putting Reese's arm over his shoulder once again, the two men made their way towards the bedroom.

The bedroom in the Library had been Mark's project. When John had shown him the ammunition the first time, he'd also shown Mark the room where they took their rest, and the omega had recoiled from it. The room John showed him had been bare. Perhaps lived in, but...

The cot reminded Mark of the one he used to have in the loft, thin and worn and sad. There was no place for Harold to hang his suits safely. The bathroom was large and just next door, which was good, but you had to walk out of the bedroom and around three other rooms to get to it.

It simply would not do.

Mark had asked John for permission to work on it, and John had given him a look that Mark couldn't parse, but had said yes. Handed over a black AmEx with no mention of spending limit. And Mark _really_ needed to get a better handle on Harold's financial situation, because the omega was sure that he'd never had so much money at his disposal before, not even working for the CIA.

What perhaps Mark's alpha and beta didn't know, or maybe they did, was that Mark had worked in contractual construction, before joining the army. A brief window of time, a year he'd almost forgotten by now, but the muscle memory came back quickly enough, and Mark found the labor satisfying.

He'd only needed John's help in getting the oversized mattress up the stairs and into the room. Everything else, Mark had done with his own hands.

He was moderately proud of the bedframe he'd built, simple wooden thing that it was. He hadn't polished or varnished, had only used wax designed for wood. The dull sheen appealed to him, was understated and elegant to his admittedly untutored eye.

With no books on the shelves, the omega dismantled them to repaint the walls, then reinstalled better ones. He filled them with necessities, easier to find than having them squirreled away in the stacks. Mark had filled the shelves with clothes and towels, first aid and emergency provisions, and multiple containers of Harold's Sencha tea.

The work Mark did on the bathroom was harder. He'd had to knock down a portion of the wall to make room for a door to the bathroom. He'd had to seal the other exit. The bathroom was large, yes, but the dividers that partitioned it into stalls had needed to go, in order for Mark to bring out the room's full potential.

The tub took some work and imagination on his part. Mark knew he couldn't drag around, much less wrestle up the stairs, a porcelain one. At least, not one big enough for Harold to stretch out in. And a small tub where the beta couldn't stretch, in Mark's opinion, would have been pointless to have.

Instead, Mark had created a tiled tub in the Roman fashion. Roman tubs weren't really popular back when he was in construction, so he'd made and assisted with two or three at most. But he managed it well enough now.

The first step was the water, both supply and drainage. Because Mark hadn't wanted to drill into the floor to embed the pipes, he'd built a concrete platform, about waist high. You had to climb a few steps to reach the tub, but Mark was sure Harold would manage. And if not, well, Mark was there to assist. In deference to Harold's independent nature, however, Mark had also built a ramp to the side, should a wheelchair ever become a necessity.

As he had been building it, Mark had grinned to himself often, imagining what the next owners of the library would think. The tub was more accurately a small pool, and could have held all three men comfortably.

When the time came, and it was clear that it had been an extraordinarily bad pain day for Harold, Mark was ready to show them. He'd asked for privacy in building everything, wanting to surprise his alpha and his beta with the elaborate gift. And he had been successful.

The look of shock and gratitude that John and Harold had given him, when he'd showed it to them... it had warmed Mark to the core. He hadn't, couldn't, stop smiling, the entire time that he had knelt beside the tub. He had loved watching the two of them in the water, gently splashing each other like children, once Harold's back had started to feel better. The omega had gently demurred an invitation to join them; he wanted the first use of it to be for his beloved alpha and his beta alone, a gift he'd built with his own two hands.

 

As soon as Mark and Reese entered the bedroom, something changed. It was as if the air itself was different. John sat on the bed, and Mark knelt in front of him. Gently easing off the shoes, then the socks, Mark kissed the tops of his alpha's feet as he revealed them, giving them a fond pat before moving on.

The black suit jacket was next, followed by the long sleeved white shirt underneath. Mark had taken them off earlier, tending to the bullet wound, but had put them back on after.

That might have been more self-motivated than anything. Mark could place more than half of his alpha's scars, had been the cause of them himself. He'd run his fingers over them as the two men waited for the anesthetic to kick in, so Mark could stitch up the wound on Reese's side. As they had waited, Mark had thought to himself, _Bosnia, Yemen, Brazil, Cambodia..._

The one scar Mark hadn't been able to look at for too long was the one on his alpha's currently uninjured side. It seemed like an eternity ago, but the healed over bullet wound was still shiny from new skin. Probably still sensitive to touch. Mark could remember it so _clearly_ , could remember telling Evans that he should have taken the shot in the parking lot.

Mark made himself look at the scar now, as penance. He pressed a hand to it, like he could make it disappear if he willed it hard enough. John covered the omega's hand with his own after a moment, letting both hands rest firmly against his side before bringing Mark's hand up for a quick kiss.

Mark pulled his hand back, startled. Gave himself a mental shake and moved on, kneeling back down to deal with John's trousers.

 

When John was finally in just his boxers, Mark got up to remove his own clothing. His suit was drenched in sweat. It was partly from running around all day, mostly from tension, from stitching up Reese. Theoretically, Mark could do it, had done it, multiple times. But the omega's hands had shaken badly while waiting for the anesthetic to kick in.

Mark removed his clothes quickly and efficiently, with a former soldier's lack of artifice and modesty. The wound he had sustained was high up on his leg, so even his boxers had to go. When he was completely bare, he fetched the first aid kit, handing it wordlessly to John.

The wound wasn't bad, more of a scratch than anything. Mark wouldn't have bothered more than soap and water by himself.  But John was meticulous. Hydrogen Peroxide, then betadine, before a bandage held down by medical tape. Mark felt no pain at all.

 

They laid themselves side by side on the bed awkwardly, after. Finch had told them to rest, and that was that. No arguments. The room was completely quiet for a while, but it wasn't restful, not for Mark. The omega felt like his head was filled with static.

A few minutes later, John tapped Mark on the arm to gain his attention.

"Come here," he said, and Mark went.

The omega breathed a sigh of relief, resting his head against warm, living skin. He had vaguely expected John to be irritated with him, or to be gruff, at the very least. But he had underestimated his alpha. John had calmly beckoned the omega over, to lie against his uninjured side, and Mark did so, grateful. 

In here, he was not Snow, and he was allowed to be afraid. Mark's breath hitched when he thought of how the bullet could have killed his alpha, had it been a few inches closer to center mass. The tears started when he remembered how he'd almost been too late. If he'd missed a shot, if he hadn't seen the last thug, if Mark had tackled the thug a second too slow...

If, if, if.

Mark carefully moved to make it easy for John to pet him, without stretching any stitches. The alpha obliged him, and didn't say a thing.

Time passed, more peacefully than before, and the two men fell asleep.

 

It was dark by the time Harold limped in, clearly exhausted. Mark was up instantly, stripping him with the outmost care. Harold was in the warm bed moments later. Looking down at them, Mark supposed that he'd just have to move to the couch outside. He could sleep there. It was comfortable enough.

Except, the floor was starting to look good to Mark right now, because he didn't want to leave the room. He must have stood there for an embarrassingly long time because, before he could make up his mind, Harold was tugging on his wrist, telling him to join them on the bed. 

It was certainly big enough for all of them, a custom-made monstrosity that the the beta had laughed at, when he'd first seen it. He had watched with amusement as John and Mark wrestled it up the stairs. But for all its size, the three men ended up pressed close together, Harold held close between the two agents.

 

That night, Mark dreamed of holes, in flesh and on the ground (with gravestones like broken teeth, covered with names for people that didn't exist). He dreamed of holes and foxes' dens and creatures curled up together, tight and warm.

 

Mark slept, and after a while, didn't dream of anything at all.

 

\---

 

"Good job, Mr. Snow"

"Thanks, Finch."

"Y-you saved my life! Thank you!"

 

With Reese injured, it was up to Snow to pick up the slack. Mark took care of the numbers, while Harold took care of John. The only objections came from John himself.

John had glared at Mark, implying punishment should he fail, but it was a half-hearted threat at best, with no true heat behind it. They all knew Mark would do his best.

Mark didn't miss field work at all. He hadn't preferred being a handler by a large margin, but at least he hadn't been exposed to all these people. Strangers who wanted to touch him and hug him and expected him to care.

The latest number was hugging him in thanks, and he was happy for her, Mark supposed. He was glad she wasn't dead, hadn't been killed to make way for an "urban development program".

("A shopping mall," Harold had said in disbelief, "They were going to kill her, because she wouldn't move out of her house to make way for a mall.")

 

Mark was pretty successful. Mark Snow had gone through the same training as John Reese, after all, could fight and shoot kneecaps and make threats just as well. But the main difference was that Mark felt nothing for the numbers. He knew that, at the end of the day, the lives he saved mattered, yes, but he was more pleased that he did a good job for his masters than anything else.  And as soon as he was done with his task, he would get to go to the loft, to the library.

He would get to go home to John and Harold. And that was everything.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...i didn't intend to for Mark to become a some kind of secret agent homemaker, but that's what happened and i like it now. :P
> 
> Also, I WAS going to go for subtle, about how much Mark identified with the Library itself, but then I figured, fuck it, why bother? Let it be as subtle as a sledgehammer, subtlety was never my strong suite.


End file.
